


The Ghost

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Lestrade requests Sherlock Holmes assistance with the sighting of an apparition.  But is there more to his request than is first apparent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spook Me Ficathon 2015
> 
> Mention of Victorian era child death (nothing graphic)

Most of my tales of the adventures of Mr Sherlock Holmes concentrate on his successes and how, in his own words, once he has eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. However, on this particular occasion, even he was left unable to find a plausible solution.

It began, as such matters often did, with a visit from Inspector Lestrade. After exchanging pleasantries Holmes asked Lestrade if there was anything particularly on his mind. Lestrade told us of an old shop which had recently been reported as haunted and which was avoided by all those living in the neighbourhood.

Holmes ventured this could be a ploy by the local criminal fraternity to keep unwanted strangers away, but Lestrade laughed nervously and said he had already considered this idea.

Holmes enquired where the idea for the haunting had come from and Lestrade hesitated, before replying “They say a ghostly woman has been seen.”

Holmes snorted and said he was too busy with the Armstrong case, but suggested I accompany Lestrade on a visit to the area. I agreed and we took a cab, stopping a couple of streets away. As we approached the old shop I sensed Lestrade’s hesitancy, which confirmed my earlier impression. “You’ve seen it too, haven’t you?”

Lestrade looked embarrassed. “I couldn’t tell Holmes that. It was only a brief glimpse. And I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation. It’s just ...”

I interrupted him before he could go any further. “Let me see it first and then we can decide how much we tell Holmes.”

As we were talking we had almost reached the place where the ghost was reported to be seen. I stopped with a jolt.

There was a woman standing in front of me. At first glance she looked like a respectable lady in her late twenties, wearing a slightly old-fashioned pale blue dress. She could have been the wife of any of the tradesmen in the area. Then I saw her left arm was only that of a skeleton.

I took a few steps towards her and felt a warm and very human hand on my arm.

“Don’t do it, doctor,” a young voice said. “Len’s brother Fred tried to touch a ghost once as a dare and he was dead within the week.”

I stopped and looked down at one of Holmes’ Irregulars. Despite my initial surprise at what I had seen, I was sure the apparition didn’t have the power of life or death. Nevertheless I responded to the lad’s fear and went no further. The lad was looking nervously at the ghost and backing away, so I reached into my pocket to find him a penny as a reward for his bravery in running up to stop me. Then I turned back to Lestrade.

Lestrade looked almost as pale as the ghost had been and I was afraid my companion was about to collapse. Indeed, he looked far more shaken than I would have expected, since he had seen the ghost before. I abandoned any further thought of inspecting the figure, took his arm and pulled him away from the scene. He gave no explanation, although I thought he muttered the word “Clara.” I hailed a cab and would have taken him back to Baker Street, but he insisted he would be all right, so instead I took him to his own lodgings.

Once there, I poured him some brandy and saw him safely ensconced in his chair. On my way out I called on Lestrade’s landlady and asked her to keep an eye on him and to send a message to me if she felt there was any cause for concern. After which I returned to Baker Street.

I related the afternoon’s events to Holmes. He agreed with me Lestrade’s behaviour was curious. It seemed surprising the inspector, who in the course of his career had dealt with many gruesome crimes, should be so affected by a mere apparition. Nevertheless, Holmes could offer no explanation, and our conversation turned to other matters.

The following morning Holmes had gone out before I came down for breakfast. He returned mid-morning.

“I can at least solve part of our conundrum,” he said. “Clara Lestrade died nine years ago. Her grandfather had a shop in the street where this ghost is supposed to haunt. It would seem Lestrade has connected the two in his mind.”

“I presume Clara was his wife,” I said.

“Indeed.” Holmes passed no further comment and began setting up an experiment.

In anticipation of the noxious fumes this was likely to produce I told Holmes I was going out for some fresh air. I did not tell him there was another reason as well.

I could understand how Lestrade, as a widower, would occasionally catch sight of someone who reminded him of his late wife. I was only too aware given that in the first few weeks of my own bereavement I had more than once crossed a road believing I had seen my dear Mary. But Lestrade’s reaction had been one of horror at seeing the ghost, not sadness, and I had decided to find out more.

I set off for Scotland Yard, wishing to reassure myself the inspector had been well enough to come into work. On arrival I was greeted by Constable Dawkins, who told me Lestrade had come in earlier, but gone out again with one of the sergeants. I thanked Dawkins and explained I had been concerned as Lestrade had seemed unwell the day before.

“That’ll be the ghost,” Dawkins said.

“Oh!” I replied, not wishing to add to any speculation.

“You know his wife died nigh on ten years ago.”

“Yes, I had heard that.”

“She died in childbirth. The baby lived, but he was always sickly. Then, about four weeks after her death, her ghost was seen. The baby died the day after.”

“Well,” I replied, “it’s not uncommon for babies not to survive long when the mother dies.”

“Yes,” Dawkins didn’t sound convinced. “Course, the inspector couldn’t care for the children by himself, so he paid his sister to look after them, which she did, and treated them well. Only, about three years later, the ghost was seen again. This time his son got scarlet fever and he died as well. So it’s no surprise the inspector’s shook up with the ghost being back again.”

My heart went out to Lestrade, but all I said was, “Thank you Dawkins. I appreciate you telling me this. I would prefer it if you didn’t mention to Inspector Lestrade that I know.”

“Course not, sir. Nice to see you again.”

Holmes might scoff, but I could understand why Lestrade might be upset. A further thought struck me. “Just one other thing, Dawkins. I presume he has other living children?”

“Two daughters, sir. Funnily enough I saw the older one the other day. She works for Fuller’s Import and Export, down by the Tower.”

Which confirmed my suspicions: having lost two children following apparent sightings of the ghost, Lestrade must be fearing another death. As a rule, I do not believe in the supernatural, but I have seen enough in my life, especially when I was in Afghanistan, not to rule anything out. It occurred to me the best way to relieve Lestrade’s worry was to prove to him his daughters were both in good health.

Accordingly I set off towards to the Tower and having made enquiry of a newspaper seller found myself at the entrance to Fuller’s Import and Export. I was unsure how to proceed, but upon my entry I spotted a young lady sitting at the desk at the far side of the hall; she was slightly built, with keen brown eyes which met mine as I walked across the hallway, there was no doubting her parentage.

“Miss Lestrade, I presume,” I began.

“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I am Dr Watson, a friend of your father’s.”

“I have heard Papa speak about you on many occasions and I am delighted to meet you.”

She half stood and I saw her bite her lip, as if she wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure if she should.

“Maybe I can be the one to provide assistance,” I prompted.

“Oh, sir, if you would. I don’t like to trouble Papa, but my sister has seemed unwell these past two days. My aunt is pre-occupied, for my cousin is expecting her first, so she is running between two households. Do you think you could ..?”

The girl looked down at the desk, clearly feeling she was being presumptive.

At that moment I felt an icy hand on my left shoulder, and it was as if four skeleton fingers grasped it. “Where is your manager?” I asked.

“Mr Challis is just through that door,” she replied.

I strode across the floor, pushed open the door and said, “Mr Challis, my name is Dr John Watson, and it is imperative Miss Lestrade accompanies me immediately.”

The man looked up, but before he could raise any objection I had shut the door again.

“Quick!” I said to the girl. “Get your coat and hat and come with me.”

Startled, she did as she was told. We left the building and I hailed a taxi. Charlotte, for she had told me this was her name, provided the address and it did not take long for us to reach our destination. I would have dismissed the cabbie, but again I felt the hand on my shoulder, so I told him to wait.

I followed Charlotte into the house, where she called out, “Jessie, Jessie, it’s only me, come to see how you are.”

There was no reply and Charlotte ran to the room she shared with her sister. We found the other girl lying on her bed, apparently asleep, but one glance convinced me this was no restorative sleep. I picked the girl up and carried her to the waiting cab, Charlotte following close behind.

The cabbie looked down and I said, “St Thomas’, as fast as you can.”

We journeyed in silence. Charlotte looked frightened, but it was not only her physical appearance which showed she was Lestrade’s daughter. Despite her fears she would not think of her own needs whilst another’s were greater.

We hurried into the hospital where I was swiftly relieved of my burden. Jessie was taken away and not long after a doctor returned to confirm my diagnosis.

“Will she ...?” Charlotte asked.

“She will live,” I answered. “We got her here in time.”

I was suddenly confronted by a second unconscious patient. Fortunately Charlotte had only fainted momentarily and she apologised for her behaviour.

“In the circumstances it is quite understandable,” I said. “There is nothing more we can do here for the moment. I would suggest you come back to Baker Street with me, where Mrs Hudson can make you some tea. After which I will find your Papa to bring him the news.”

As it turned out I did not need to look for Lestrade. Charlotte and I entered our rooms just in time to hear the man himself saying to Holmes, “I went back, but she wasn’t there. What can it mean, Mr Holmes?”

It was impossible to miss the anguish in his voice. Charlotte ran across the room and hugged her father.

“Papa, Jessie is in hospital, but she’s going to be all right,” she said. “Dr Watson came and saved her.”

Lestrade gave a sob and sank into the nearby chair. Holmes went to pour some brandy, whilst I tactfully withdrew to ask Mrs Hudson to bring up some tea for all of us.

I explained to Lestrade the course of events, although under Holmes’ gaze I did not feel I could mention the touch of the icy hand on my shoulder. I reassured Lestrade his younger daughter would recover fully and after a while father and older daughter left to return home.

Once they had gone Holmes looked at me and asked, “What was it that made you act so promptly?”

I smiled and merely said, “Instinct I suppose, my dear chap.”

I, like Holmes, believe that once all which is impossible has been eliminated, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

 


End file.
